Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw resurfaced in my mind quite spontaneously this evening, but that is typically how these reflections emerge.

Something small triggers it. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I tried to flip through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. My pause was more extended than required, methodically dividing each page, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.

Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations whose origins have become blurred over time. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language

I remember once asking someone about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.

Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. Wisdom allows get more info for admiration from a remote vantage point. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.

Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They talk about consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare

There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. But the feeling stuck. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.

I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.

My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not everything needs to have a clear use. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.